


HANDSY

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blood Play, Edge of Smut, Hand Sex, Interconnected Systems, M/M, Mech/Mech, Potential Squeaker Content, Suggestive Themes, Tactile-play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A press of knuckles with the slide of electricity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	HANDSY

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody needed to take “finger-fucking” into a different realm. Can’t say I’m overtly proud of what I did, but the beauty of fanfiction and that shit.

Whirl rubs a clawed hand along Ratchet’s arm, releasing and pressing his pincers closed.  He pushes his frame fully into the medic’s as Ratchet snaps the connectors into the in-access ports.  Data slips over the wires as Ratchet runs his fingers over them.  His internal presence wraps about Whirl’s and guides him forward past firewalls and security nets. 

The flyer settles on a particular patch and connects to the flow there.  His real life frame arches and cries, pressing in closer to the medic.  Sensations that he had not felt in eons wash over the connection and feed directly into his neural conduit.  Not since the loss of his hands and head to the erumpata procedure had he felt the smoothness of metal glide through finger or the catch of a tip pad against a segment of the interfacing cable.

The sharpness of his own pinschers catches him off guard as Ratchet grips one tight enough to slice a red palm.  The stickiness of the energon slipping from the wound and onto the blades causes a surge to rip through Whirl’s circuits.  He cannot stop the static chuckle that erupts from his vocalizer after the tremors pass.

“No…zztt…doc…shht…not what…zrrtilll…not what we agreed to.”

Ratchet’s own cooling fans spin to remove the gathering heat from his frame.  A red hand touches along the back of Whirl’s helm.  The fingers coax into the open gaps along the leading edge of the spinal strut.  The copter freezes both from the feedback Ratchet is supplying him along the connection in data-packets with each burring swipe of metal pads along wires and the odd sensation of someone stroking along his brain module’s base-end processor circuitry.

Whirl shifts his stance lower to push the top of his helm against the medic’s shoulder in a warbling whine.  Ratchet intakes a vent when the tip of a blade catches the pad of his thumb.  He withdraws the petting hand away from Whirl cranial cavity.  He inserts two digits into his mouth and licks over and around the seams.  His bleeding fingers find Whirl’s guns.  They circle the rim of the housing before dipping in and out.  The flyer almost unconsciously whirs the tip in a standard activation sequence that is shut down within seconds and then feed into a continuous loop causing the metal to heat and swell.  Red fingers lace through that whirring heat with stupid abandon. 

The wet swipe of a glossa over sensitive fingers, the burning slither of a charging weapon under tapping fingertips, and the crash of data-feedback slams over both ramped up systems.  The private medical bay flickers with the light of a releasing charge as a flyer and grounder frame stutter and jerk.


End file.
